


Reading Between the Lines

by orphan_account



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Multi, Yullen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:30:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught between what may be said and what may be implied, Allen grows to adore the small things, the small knacks Kanda has for things, and for some he doesn't. Yullen, AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reading Between the Lines

Eyes on me! he says.

Not through words - Allen's gotten better at reading _between_ the lines! - but here and there in scenes mottled with great frustration on Allen's part, trying to pry and embroil. His grudging admiration he holds to the Japanese boy is battered, scratched, and stronger than ever! once his fierce competition takes a hold of him - and then both! - when petty words are forgotten about and all that matters is who _wins_.

He's read between the lines the charming (almost makes Kanda seem _handsome_ Allen decides one day with critical eyes and crossed arms) lilt that slips through his lips, makes his tongue feel fat in his mouth and coats his words with his prominent Japanese heritage.

Reads between the most galling flick of his eyes that sometimes snag at Allen's own chrome and their vindictive stare and strike! as if he's won a small battle by only lowering in his direction.

He picks at the nimble, hidden words tucked between each curl of Kanda's fists, he hears them in the ignorant - maddening! scribble of Kanda's pen until Allen can't handle himself and turns around in the middle of class only to peer at him threateningly.

His noncommittal way about conversation with the flair of ignorance peeves, prods, and fascinates Allen, how such a pretty face can prove so tetchy and sour, bitter scowls, sneers, resentful repartee and the foulest mouth Allen has ever been given the chance to exchange words with (hardly words, furious, venomous "words" _spat_ ).

It enthralls, irritates, awes Allen to unknown degrees - yet he still catches the smallest twinges in the other's eye that pinches Allen with pain and guilt and wonder.

It leaves him to question in his sudden, startled, frequently caught awe why Kanda Yu carries within himself - in his gait, in his character, in his silence when he sits alone with his eyes faraway and anger quiet - an unbearable sort of sadness Allen knows well about.

One morning it begins the way it always does, Allen milling (lost, he insists, isn't the word) about campus with his red beanie kept on loose and between the strap of his bag and chest a small notebook, worn and dear. Breath comes away in icy plumes of white and his fingers wriggle deep in his pockets of his gray peacoat in hopeful and fruitless search for warmth.

The only warmth that comes to him is not in his pockets but the flare and flood of blood to his cheeks after he's bumped, startled, and left red in the face with only a foreign word in his wake.

"Lost again, Moyashi?"

"Excuse me? No - excuse you, fool!"

"Oh, 'fool'?" Kanda snorts cruelly, Allen's frown takes on a harsher tug and he watches him with hardened eyes. "Says the one who can't find his way around campus."

Allen's own voice dies down as anger grips at his throat with a too-warm touch that flares through his whole body; ears and neck go warm. His frown twitches and eyes dart between Kanda's until his Japanese companion smirks with knowing he's won.

"Nothing good ever comes out of that mouth of yours." Allen's tone is low and dangerous with its own slight quiver to match his hidden-away fingers.

"And nothing worthwhile ever comes out of yours," Kanda says, sly and curt with a small quirk to his lips and brow.

The boy's jaw sets and his eyes shut loosely in defeat, lips part and blow away the deflated anger and small bit of pride Kanda has taken from him (owned by him until his own victory!).

"Right." Allen swipes at his nose with the side of a cold finger and sniffs indignantly, eyes to the ground. "I'll see you in class, Kanda." He looks to him with stony eyes and an unkind crinkle to his brow and lips, walks away with knowing the other man is watching him with bright eyes and that tautly stretched smirk.

With the remainder of his dignity held tight in his palms, safe-guarded until their next run through and tucked away in the warming pockets of his coat, Allen wisely makes his way to one of the very few places that has the power to make him go queasy with both nervous excitement and fear. His own easy pace and the sharp tap of his boots against the icy concrete brings him down and away from the adrenalizing high that comes with an exchange of words with Kanda, as usual his too-fickle mood taking on something calmer and collected as he nears his classroom.

…

Despite only able to see the retreating back of the white haired boy, Kanda's small smirk remains and his brow quirks down in triumph. He turns away when the gray of Allen's smaller peacoat disappears behind a building and footsteps no longer reach his ears.

Though when brought face to face, Kanda too has his chances of peering so sovereignly through Allen's usually fickle moods when he's smiling one moment, slim and smartly dressed, seated beside him with his mouth running, or lowering at him so jadedly from across the room, looking vile and unlovely. It irks and smatters him with hints of anger, confusion, and the vague sense of curiosity he holds to no one other than Allen Walker.

You watch what Allen has as an odd sort of elegance, one that you can find when you read between the small breaths of air the boy breaths before he begins speaking and the slender curve-away of his back (that never fails to be directed at _you_ ).

From time to time, you will catch him looking at you just as you've so well hidden from him, and instead of blushing to turning away, he does something bold – he continues to look right at you, and manages still to pour into his ruminating gaze more if that electrifying _spark_ of curiosity and know it all grip he seems to have on everything.

You blame the staring and faraway looks directed only at you on Allen's competitive streak and how much fun he seems to have hating you as he tries to crush whatever he's afraid is taller, greater, more capable than him – _you._

You're very nearly flattered.

**Author's Note:**

> well ta-da
> 
> this is my first bit of fan fiction for my ao3 account, but i've been writing for quite a while.


End file.
